


Hey Mr. Argent (Don't Know What I'm Getting Into)

by amadnesskinks



Series: Hey Mr. Argent [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bratting, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, No Sex, Non-Sexual Kink, Seduction, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadnesskinks/pseuds/amadnesskinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia just wants a quick and easy fling with her best friend's father.  What she gets is more than she bargained for, though, and Lydia's about to learn, there is nothing quick and easy about Chris Argent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Mr. Argent (Don't Know What I'm Getting Into)

**Author's Note:**

> I felt a need for Lydia/Chris, and there wasn't enough already out there!
> 
> Some content warnings I didn't know how to tag:
> 
> Lydia tries to seduce and then manipulate Chris into a sexual relationship with her, even though she's underage and it's inappropriate for him to do so. After she pushes too far, Chris tricks or forces her into a D/s relationship with him. He does give her some choice, but not enough for informed consent. None of the activities that proceed are safe, sane, and consensual or risk-aware. It's implied that the relationship will continue despite the risks and unsafe practices. (Let me know if you can think of any tags that might cover this, or that I could add to make sure people know what they're getting!)
> 
> I in no way condone the actions taken by the characters in this story. This is fantasy, not reality. Please keep this in mind as you continue reading.
> 
> That said, if you're sticking around to read the actual fic, enjoy!

“Hey Mr. Argent,” she calls, fluttering her eyelashes deliberately as her best friend’s dad comes through the door.

“Lydia,” Mr. Argent says, a little taken aback. “Allison’s not here, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Lydia agrees. “I didn’t come here to see Allison.”

Mr. Argent isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what that means. She can see him carefully considering all the implications of the fact that Lydia came to see him, all the consequences that might arise. “What was it you wanted, Lydia?” he asks finally.

Lydia pouts. “I wanted to see you,” she says, adjusting the way she’s sitting on his living room couch, so her breasts are pushed forward and he can see her cleavage.

“Lydia,” Mr. Argent warns, and Lydia straightens. She looks away and shrugs finally.

“Sorry, Mr. Argent. I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought, I guess.”

“I have a good idea what you thought,” Mr. Argent admits. “What I’m not so clear on is why the seduction routine when you could just ask for what you want.”

“Don’t all men have fantasies about good little cheerleaders befriending their daughters to get closer to them?” Lydia asks. The words are teasing, but there’s a bitter undertone that gives Mr. Argent pause.

“I see,” he says slowly. “Is that what this is really about, Lydia? A fantasy?”

She doesn’t answer, but there’s a sharp look in her eye that tells him all he needs to know.

“I see,” he repeats. He carefully hangs his coat up on one of the hooks by the door, then comes farther into the apartment. Lydia watches him carefully, trying to gauge his response. “Lydia. If you aren’t going to tell me why you really came to see me, then you need to leave.”

Lydia’s lip curls. She hates being dismissed, hates it more than almost anything, but she knows that Mr. Argent has a _my house, my rules policy_ , and if she doesn’t do as he says he won’t hesitate to kick her out the door until she’s ready to behave. “I want you to fuck me,” she says, deciding on crudeness as a small form of rebellion.

“Is that what you want?” Mr. Argent asks. “Is that really what you want?”

“Of course,” Lydia snaps, crossing her legs daintily. “Why would I have bothered asking if it wasn’t?”

“I don’t think that’s really what you want, Lydia,” Mr. Argent says slowly. There’s something dangerous and predatory about him, and Lydia realizes she may have miscalculated. “I think what you really want is someone to put you in your place.”

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about,” Lydia sniffs.

“No?” Mr. Argent asks. “Let me rephrase it in a way you’re more likely to understand. I think your boyfriend has a tiny dick and a big ego and you figured it was time for a replacement. I think your daddy never paid you enough attention, but I always treated you like you were no different from my own daughter, and you think that means I'll give you what you want. I think your mother doesn’t know or care where you go when you leave the house, as long as you give some plausible explanation for your absence, or sneak out when she’s not looking. And I think that when you added all these things up, you decided what you really wanted was to see how far you could push your spoiled princess brat act before someone called you on it. And that ridiculous quest has brought you to me.”

“Don’t be so vain,” Lydia huffs. “It’s not like you’re the only adult who’s ever told me no, Christopher.”  She thinks fleetingly of Peter Hale, and how he'd laughed in her face when she'd propositioned him.

“You call me Mr. Argent, and watch your language from now on. Unless you want your mouth washed out with soap,” he warns.

“What’s the big deal?” Lydia demands, rising from the couch finally. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to fuck me? I waxed and everything, just for you, Mr. A. I left my panties at home, too. I’m all bare and smooth underneath my skirt, and you could have your fill, if you’d just take some fucking initiative.”

Mr. Argent sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lydia, I am your best friend’s father. I am more than twice your age. I teach at your high school, you're in one of my classes. There are a thousand other reasons I should keep my hands off, too, but you, in your almighty wisdom, have decided none of them are valid, or worth considering. Who gave you the right?”

“When you put it like that you make it sound immoral,” Lydia mumbles. She knows she pushed too far, that he’ll never agree to what she wants now, but she’s not Queen Bee of Beacon Hills High School for nothing, so she waits him out.

“All right, brat,” Mr. Argent says finally, stepping forward and taking Lydia’s chin in his hand. “You wanna put my reputation, my livelihood, my relationship with my daughter, and my place in this community on the line? Fine. I won’t even pretend I don’t want it too, because I know you’d see through it. But there are going to be rules. You know how this works—my house, my rules. You follow them or you get out.”

“Of course, Mr. A,” Lydia agrees, feeling triumphant. “You can tell me all about these rules of yours on the way to the bedroom.”

“That’s not how this works, baby doll,” Mr. Argent says, grabbing her elbow to stop her from flouncing past him. “You already broke three of my rules. Care to take a guess as to which ones?”

“Well,” she hedges. “I said fuck a lot,” she tries.

“That’s one,” he agrees.

“I—I don’t know the others,” she admits, gritting her teeth.

“You didn’t call me Mr. Argent,” he says. “You heard me ask you to call me Mr. Argent and you shortened it to Mr. A. That is not acceptable, Lydia.”

“But Mr. A— _Mr. Argent,_ I mean—I’ve called you Mr. A for years,” Lydia protests.

“New relationship, new rules, baby doll. You want to fight me on this? Try it,” he grins, toothy and fierce, and she shakes her head, no. “And the last rule? Any guesses?”

“No, Mr. _Argent_ ,” she says, over emphasizing her use of his full name.

“You lied about why you came here, even after I’d asked you to tell me the truth,” Mr. Argent reminds her. “You tell me the truth when I ask you a question from now on, and if you’re uncomfortable talking about it, you tell me the truth about that, too.”

“Yes, Mr. Argent,” she agrees, reluctant but knowing better than to argue.

“All your infractions today have to do with your mouth,” Mr. Argent muses, and Lydia can hear the gears clicking in his head as he chooses his next words. “However, since I’ve also found your attitude unacceptable, I’m going to alter the punishment. Normally I’d wash your mouth out with soap and be done, but I’m going to add a spanking today, just to make sure I get the point across.”

“Mr. Argent!” Lydia exclaims, trying to come up with a good reason—any reason—for him not to go through with either punishment. “I—you can’t do that.”

“No?” he asks. “You’d rather leave? You’d rather not test how far you can push your bratting?”

“I don’t want to be punished,” she says, crossing her arms.

Mr. Argent considers her for a long moment. “You’re a brat, Lydia. A spoiled brat who never has anyone give her limits or tell her no. You don’t just need someone to fuck you and forget you; you need someone who’ll push back, who won’t take your bullshit. And if you choose me as that person, then the punishment will suit the crime.”

“You’re not my father,” Lydia growls.

“You’d call me daddy anyway, if I told you to,” Mr. Argent snaps back, his grin feral and dangerous.

She wants to disagree, wants to bite and claw and hiss her way out of this, back out onto the street and into her car, if necessary, but she also came here for a reason, and she hasn’t been fucked yet. She wants that more than anything, including more than escaping a spanking and the taste of soap in her mouth. So she curls her lip, shakes back her hair, and sighs, “Fine. You can spank me or whatever.”

Mr. Argent just grunts in response, and leads her back to his bedroom. They don’t stop there, though, instead moving on to his en suite bathroom. He picks up the Softsoap dispenser and a washcloth. She watches, a little nervous about the whole prospect. She’s heard of her friends getting their mouths washed out with soap before, but her own parents were not what you’d call hands-on. Mr. Argent wets the washcloth, then squirts a generous amount of soap onto the cloth.

“Open, Lydia,” he orders, and she reluctantly parts her lips. He wraps the washcloth around his hand and pushes three thick, terry-cloth covered fingers into her mouth and scrubs.

She makes a startled, unhappy noise and tries instinctively to jerk away, but his free hand keeps her in place as he scrubs at her mouth for a long minute. When he’s done he takes out his fingers, then pushes the soapy washcloth back into her mouth. She whines in protest, but he doesn’t remove it, and she doesn’t dare do it herself. Instead she stands there and waits while he walks out of the bathroom and gets something out of his dresser drawers.

He’s probably only gone a minute, but Lydia is more than grateful when he finally comes back in and takes the cloth out of her mouth.

“You can spit and rinse, if you want to,” he tells her, tossing the washcloth into the bathtub to rinse out later. Lydia hurries to take advantage of the offer, and rinses her mouth out several times, until the soap taste is bearable.

Mr. Argent has settled himself on the closed lid of the toilet when she turns around. He pats his knee, and Lydia swallows her pride and gingerly drapes herself across his lap. He arranges her so she’s comfortable and supported, even if it is humiliating to be across his lap in his bathroom.

“I’m going to flip up your skirt,” he says softly. “You’ll be spanked until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson, Lydia. I’m not going to stop until I’m done unless it’s an emergency, and if you tell me it’s an emergency and it isn’t, you’ll just be spanked longer. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

“I can’t hear you, baby doll,” he warns.

“I said yes,” she snaps.

“Watch that tone,” Mr. Argent says. It’s the last thing he says for a long time.

The spanking doesn’t really hurt at first, but Lydia can tell he’s not putting his full strength behind it yet. As he gets a feel for how hard he can hit her, the sting gets worse and worse, and then he shifts and picks up a wooden hair brush.

“Oh—oh no, please, no,” she cries out when he hits her the first time. “No, please stop. I thought—I thought you meant just your hand, I can't stand it if you use a brush,” she begs.

“You can take it,” he says simply, and keeps spanking.

The hairbrush feels deeper somehow, the smacks more painful, and it feels like hours before he stops. Hours spent with her head hanging down, her ass in the air, the steady smack of the hairbrush against her skin. When he finally stops she feels bruised and stiff.

Mr. Argent helps her stand. “Lean up against the counter,” he tells her, and she does it without question, too dazed to question it. He keeps her skirt hiked up and massages her butt with his hands, until the pain doesn’t feel quite so agonizing anymore. “There’ll be bruises tomorrow,” he says. “They’ll heal soon enough, but sitting won’t be comfortable for a few days. If it’s really unbearable, try some icy hot.”

“A-are you going to—I mean, will you—will you have sex with me now?” Lydia asks.

Mr. Argent turns her around and pulls her into a hug. “No, Lydia. You haven’t earned it yet.”

“I—what? What do you mean? I thought—I thought if I let you—if you spanked me and—then you’d _do_ me after,” she says.

Mr. Argent shakes his head. “No, Lydia. Not tonight. You need to go home and really think about whether you want to do this with me. There’ll be other rules if you do, much more strict ones. I’ll tell you what to wear, who you can and can’t talk to, where you should go before and after school. You’ll have rules about what to call me, and you will call me by the appropriate name at the appropriate time, unless you want worse consequences than you faced here tonight. And we’ll need to lay down some rules about your interactions with me at school and in front of Allison. You don’t get a say in any of them, either. You want me to be your daddy, fuck you hard and slap you around, I can do that, but I’ll do it on my own terms.”

“Yes, sir,” Lydia says, voice small. “If I do want it, though,” she starts, then hesitates.

“You can ask, baby doll,” Mr. Argent says.

“If I want it, if I say yes, will it be like this every time? Will you make it hurt every time? Or will you be nice, too?” she asks.

Mr. Argent considers her for a long moment, then says, “I won’t hurt you every time. But I will give you exactly what you need, no matter how much you might think you don’t want it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she agrees. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and Lydia preens at the compliment. “You’d better go home for tonight, Lydia. You can come over again once your bruises have healed and you’ve had time to think this through.”

“All right, Mr. Argent,” she agrees. He leads her back out to the front door, and tucks her into her coat. He opens the door for her, and she’s all the way through it when she spins around and says, “Thank you, Mr. Argent.” Then she hurries on her way down the hall.

She doesn’t turn around, so she doesn’t see Mr. Argent’s shark-grin at the hitch in her step. She’s smart enough to know, though, that it doesn’t matter how long she has to think about it. She’ll be back when her bruises are healed, and her answer is going to be yes.


End file.
